Pakistan

Ok I have one thing to say about the media here in Spain...THEY HOW EVERYTHING!

I am not sure how to explain it but they are not afraid to show blood, gore or horror. I can only wonder what is being shown on American TV but they don´t pull punches here.

My first experence was when a police officer accidently fired a flare into a crowd and killed a little boy. The picture in the newspaper was powerful as it snapped as a father carried his son out of a car, his limp body dangling. Remembering the pictue, I cannot honestly remember if it was a photo or a video as the picture said so much. You could imagine the seconds before and the seconds after, like a small snippet of film reel laying on an editors floor.

My next few chances at realism were met with hungry and horrified eyes. I found myself silently thanking the american media for not have the guts to show me the realness of life. Still my virgin eyes beg for more and more despite my feeble heart not being able to stomach another knee jerk reacton as my head spins. Still I walk thru life with my eyes wide open.

Then it strikes again...Pakistan. I knew this was coming. Who didn´t? A leader exiled from her country, only to return to possibly take over and the sitting comander doing all he could do to stem the tidal wave of former Pakistan Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto´s supporters. Was it Musharraf's call for martial law a few weeks ago that scared me? Or was it his decision to remove himself from the military and dress in plain clothing and act presidential. Ntohing he could do would stop this prodigal daughter from returning. Was it not him who led the way for her return only to see his political rival gunned down on the streets.

So my question to anyone in America...are they showing you the blood soaked car she rode in? are they now showing you the video of her being assasinated then followed by the suicide bomber? I know I can reach if from cnn.com here but are they allowing it in America? if not, you do not know what you are missing when you are shown a few dead bodies for breakfast.

Night in Sant Mateu...

So this weekend we decided to take a trip south of Cataluña to the province of Valencia. The reason for the trip was to see a little more of Spain as much as it was for Carme to escape the lovingly smothering from her mother. Maybe I will get into that story another day...

A little information about Spain and it´s provinces, of the major provinces, they are generally named after the largest and main city residing in that province. Catalonia is comprised of 4 sub regions (Tarragona, Barcelona, Girona and Lleida); Valencia is made up of 3 sub regions (Alicante, Valencia and Castellón). If the name Valencia sounds familiar, think of the fruit oranges. Driving down the main highway, A-7, reminds me of driving down I-95 in Florida. To your left and right, there are acres and acres of orange groves lining the hilly landscape. Now I have never driven thru Florida in the dead of winter but I know the temperature never seemingly dips below freezing and when it does, there is major damage to the citrus crops. Still I have spent time in this region and I know it can get near freezing at night but somehow the oranges seem to survive. And I mean big plump ripe oranges for the picking even a few days before the New Year. A year ago, Carme taught Chelsea K. the finer points of jumping out of the car and stealing a few baskets full before peeling off down the road in a cloud of dust.

We journeyed to a small town called Sant Mateu (Sant Mateo) first to shack up for the night. Sant Mateu, which is in the Castellón (or in Catalan Castelló) sub province, is the birth place of Carme´s father and summer hell for Carme growing up. Sant Mateu is a very small and old town situated in a somewhat mountainous region about 40km or more west of the coastal and larger town of Vinaros. We took off from Tossa and made the 3 hour journey to stay in the summer home of her sister there in Sant Mateu.

To me, Sant Mateu is known for 3 things...how freaking cold it gets at night, the flies in the summer and the foul smell in the air. I think the later of the two are related due to the smell of either fertilizer or cows I have yet to run into. I can imagine with a smell like that lingering, flies must make Sant Mateu a summer home also.

Natalia´s summer home is actually like a line of attached cookie cutter row homes. The funny story is about a year ago, the lady to the right killed herself by hanging. Every time I sleep there I have to talk myself out of the existence of ghosts. Besides, I am not sure of the woman´s nationality but if she was Spanish, I would not understand her anyhow so how could she haunt me? I am such a scaredy cat.

Also most houses don´t have central air and heat in this part of Spain. The weather is pretty mild in the winters and they houses stay surprisingly cool in the more than warm summers. When the summer comes around, I will try to figure out why. Well Natalia's little love shack is no different. But with near freezing temperatures looming the night of our arrival, we were warmer outside than inside the house. So I put my survival skills to the test and decided to build a fire (reminder, get updated on the fire starting badge from the boy scouts). Well actually I got a fire started, but the stacked wood in the back was a bit moist and old and smoke quickly filled the living room.

Luckily we had two space heaters. When I say "luckily" I mean the difference between life and death! Carme´s nose turned blue but I was shivering too much to focus. I did my best to cook that night in mittens and 3 pairs of socks. Then we decided to divide our resources and put one space heater in the master bedroom to preheat that oven! We tried to past time watching a movie but even the DVD player was icing up so we decided to move to bed. To possibly save Alex´s little toes, we had him sleep between us that night. Entering into the bed room, our faces flushed at the noticeable difference in temperature but still we were to sleep in double layers socks and knitted caps. We tried to bring in the second and smaller of the space heaters but due to the lack of space on the floor due to the layout of furniture, it might have been unsafe to do so.

So off to bed we went. Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up feeling like my throat was dry as a wool sweater. I tried to speak but inaudible words plagued me. What had brought about this parched feeling? The space heater was working just a bit too well. I remembered that there were 4 settings, off, one, two and three and I am sure it was on three. I decided to risk my family´s chances at frost bite and turn it down to two. I decided to go for a drink of water. We slept with the door closed so as soon as I opened it, I felt as though I somehow had walked into a walk-in freezer. I thought twice about venturing a few feet to the refrigerator as Carme might not awaken until morning and by then, hypothermia might have set in and I would be lost to building shelter only 4 feet away from the bedroom door. So I regress back to the warm sheets.

In what seemed like 2 seconds since I closed my eyes, I felt the unfamiliar kicking of Alex, the soccer player. Since he is only 6 years old and has little body control while sleeping (thank goodness for bladder control), he took out his dreams on me. He must have been dreaming that he was scoing the winning goal in the Wold Cup and my kidneys were the balls. I can't complain too much as I could have been facing the other direction. I figured he was just pushing and uncomfortable at having his mother and father´s body heat envelope him, so I decided to take one for the team. I will take the other heater and move to the spare bedrooms and slept on the lower bunk of the beds. I contemplated sleeping in my shoes as I put them on to assist with traction as I am sure the floors were icy from the coldness. Surprisingly, they weren´t but one can never be too safe.

As I take one last look at my sleeping family and pray that morning will come for all of us, I reminded myself not to cry as it might freeze on my face. I bravely set up the smaller space heater in the back room as I settled into my night´s slumber. Instead of a blanket or quilt on the bed, the covers were sort of like a sleeping bag. The zipper opened away from the wall, as opposed to closer to the wall, where the bunk beds were pushed against. No fear of falling off I suppose. So I slide in between the covers and fall into a sleep. My last thought was fear that I was drifting off to sleep or just passing out from the coldness.

Again, I am awakened in the middle of the morning to a weird sensation. No it was not my nose throbbing from being so cold but in fact, I had managed to kick off my socks and was about to kick off the covers. I shook my head to gain my bearings and realized...this little heater was kicking my ass. I was sweating!!! How was I to regulate this nuclear heat coming my way? Would I need to put aloe on my face in case I was burned in the night while I slept?

I heard stirring in the other room and I decided to make my way to the bedroom with my family. Carme greeted me with sleepy eyes and asked how I slept. I could only describe it as knowing how a grilled cheese sandwich felt.

The next morning, we got up and decided to make a trip down to Valencia. We did not go too deep into the city as there is just too much to do in a day. We did take a horse ride around the city and enjoyed ourselves looking like tourists. Here are some photos from the trip...Enjoy...

things are just different here...

As most of you know, I do the cooking for the family. Carme can make 2 dishes and order pizza. The nearest pizza delivery place is thru a winding road and about 15 miles away. we ordered there once, only once. Let´s just say it is not anywhere near your local Papa John´s. So Carme is now limited to 2 dishes.

Of the 2 dishes, (truita de potata, which is an omelet of eggs and cooked potatoes, and macarons, think of baked Ziti with meat sauce), in a 7 day week...Carme has 5 days off from cooking. But since we have visited many restaurants, Alex is growing accustomed to the local way of cooking them and Carme´s pale in comparison. So now she is down to one dish and 6 nights off. Lucky her.

So since I am back to being a full time cook, I must spend lots of time in the grocery stores. Like I said, things are just different here. There is no other way to explain it.

I love milk. I love milk by the gallons. Of course a gallon is an English measurement not a metric one. My first experience in the milk buying business scared the living creeps out of me. It´s not located in the refrigerated aisle of the grocery store. Actually I think I might have felt better if they had it under heat lamps. You see they come in these cartons they call "brics", square cartons with twist off tops. The milk comes at room temperature but completely cut off from light. No milk bottles or clear plastic here. These brics are opaque. The process that the milk is put under is called UHT processing (Ultra High Temperature) where the milk is subjected to high temperature to kill off spores but not for a very long time which saves a lot of the nutrients. Still I seemed a little reluctant and nervous but if it has not sickened millions of Europeans than I guess I could survive. Also the milk is sold in individual bottles of opaque plastic or in 6 packs of brics. Still I have grown to love love milk once again...along with an extra few toes.

Going along with the dairy theme, I also love cheese. Long gone are the days of American, Cheddar and Monterrey Jack. I am faced with choices of Emmental, Monchega, and Mozzarella. Don´t even try to get me to explain the difference. I am still waiting on the perfect grilled cheese type of cheese. They do have a pretty bland tasting cheese that rivals American cheese. they use it to make grilled cheese sandwiches called "bikini" in this area of Spain, Catalunya. So be careful what you order and where. I am used to buying cheese in slices despite the efforts of Ukrops trying to "culturize" my south Richmond mentality. Here, the cheese can be bought freshly sliced or in chunks from the original roung thingy...I guess saying a block of cheese brings back memories of government cheese that was soooooo good when making grilled cheese sandwiches but hell on a baking dish to make macaroni and cheese. speaking of mac and cheese, my life is near empty without it here. I can´t find a Velveeta box to save my life. I am so deprived.

Another thing I absolutely when nuts over is the juice. they sell juice like it´s bottled water here. People here are very much into bottle water as well as fruit juices. You can find whole rows in the grocery store. There are many kinds like what you would expect like apple, pineapple and orange. Grape juice is near impossible to fine as their need for grapes only seem to fan the fire of the wine industry. I do notice a lot of grape juice mixed with peaches. This mixture is a bit thick and hard to swallow. when I decide to buy a blender, I might get back into my smoothie phase and pick up a few thousand brics of uva and meloncoton (grape and peach juices combined). but I have to say my favorite is the pineapple juice. I drink that stuff as if this year´s harvest depends on it! I cannot seem to get enough of it. I sweat the stuff out on warm days and my clothes end up sticking to me. I swear it´s unnatural but I love it. And despite my love of apple juice, I had to let it go like a bad lover. I mean why have a bad lover when you can have a better one, right? Something about not seeing the juice until you pour it in a glass (which is to say I usually just drink from the bric) but if you leave an opened bric in the fridge too long, it´s like the juice starts to clot like your blood during a nose bleed. It´s like not juice but pulverized apple. If I left it long enough, I would be chewing first then swallowing. I am waiting for a apple core to choke on.

On weighing my decision to move to Spain, I was faced with a serious minus. Life without Coke Zero. Oh Coke is worldwide...the most popular brand in the World alongside Nike and Pepsi. So I knew I would find Coke here as it seems to be my choice of beverage while dining in some of the nicer restaurants. They even have Diet coke which is called Coke Light here. and if you ever wondered where glass bottles went and why you an only find plastic or cans in America...well they are here in Europe. Someone explain that to me. I remember the last glass bottle I drank a soda from was during my yearly summer vacations to Rocky Mount, NC, when you could return the bottle for a deposit. My cousin Darren and I would walk a few blokes, armed with all the change we could find around the house, practicing our math on how many bottles we could return to equal enough to get a good discount on a ice cold RC cola or something. Still any discount is a good one.

So I fell in love with Coke zero before I left. knowing in a few months I would run into decaffeinated Coke zero in America. but my move could not wait and I said goodbye to it and made my journey. I cried like a baby. But to my surprise, my wife and darling son had picked me up a 8 pack of cans and i cried again. Never had I been more in love with his woman. I think I will start saving for Alex´s college now and stop betting on horses.

I rock....

So it´s Christmas eve and a few weeks ago, Carme volunteered me for Christmas eve dinner. This dinner is to include her parents, sister, brother in law and daughter and of course Alex, Carme and myself. Afterall I cooked it so I guess I should be able to eat it. So I am cooking for 8. That is no big feat in itself but the obstacles were many and varied.

First of all, as I said before, things are just different here as one would expect. Those normal food items one would expect at your local Ukrops just aren´t readily available here due to culture and tastes. The first obstacle was to find a whole turkey. sure I could have found all the octopus you can shake a stick at (would someone please explain this phrase to me) but I could not bring myself to basting it for 15 minutes. Here, one has to order a turkey and I guess some United Nations peace keeping force airdrops it to you. You must go to your local butcher (yes they still have real live full time run of the mill butchers here) which you can find at a butcher shop or a grocery store. You order it and in a few days they have a fresh turkey for you. And when I say fresh I mean with a few quills still attached to it. I spent a good hour inspecting and pulling feathers off of this naked bird. The bird weighed 6 kilos(15 lbs roughly) so I knew I had at least 4 hours of basting and rotating.

Next, I had to plan my menu. The turkey was taken care of and side vegetables would not be an issue. Now I had to decide on what to make for dessert. Dessert is a bit trickier as the desserts here are...well how can I put this...not sweet. The desserts here are beautiful and works of art. Rather than your typical cake in a 9" round pan with multiple layers and icing (or frosting, I get them confused ...wait...icing is cold right?) that seem to make your teeth ache after one bite. Here they are flaky, crusty, full of cream, and laking in flavor. Pretty much every dessert tastes the same but are different in the way they are arranged. More like the different in a Picaso and a Renoir.

So I went browsing thru my local grocery stores. There are 3 here in Tossa all within a 2 minute walk of one another. Caprabo is right outside of our balcony and is pretty large..considering I am used to WalMart Super stores. When you walk into most stores with shopping carts, they have solved the problem of disappearing shopping carts,...YOU PAY TO USE ONE. Of course you get this money back and it varies from 50 cents to 1 €. All the carts are daisy chained together so you won´t get it free until you deposit a coin into a special slot on the cart to release the chain. You walk around the store hoping you won´t come up an Euro short in the check out line.

Another funny thing about the carts, all four wheels move independently. In America the front two wheels move so you can just push and steer. Here, you have to sign up for liability insurance just to maneuver thru the narrow food aisles. Yes, the aisles are just as narrow as the Medieval streets. So before grocery shopping, I get a physical for my knees ever since I saw this old lady blow a ACL in the frozen foods aisle. How can this happen? Well imagine trying to round a curb with a basket full of food and your back wheels go out on you. So your tail in comes around and you try to brace yourself for the shift in weight and you hear an unfamiliar snap but still somehow you know what the noise if from.

So I head to the baking aisle, when I realize, there is no baking aisle. There is no row of baking powder, different types of flour, instant cake mixes and jars of Duncan Hines icing...or frosting. Actually it´s one thing to look for familiar food items, it´s another to try to translate them. for the love of god, what does baking soda translate to? Oh I can find baking powder. It says in English right on the can. But baking soda...that´s a no go. So I guess cakes are out of the questions. I can´t imagine why they would need leavening, most of the bread is just hard and crusty baguettes. So I move on to other ideas. I do make a mean apple pie. I will even make my own crust!

So back to the crib to begin my holiday cook-o-thon. Another thing here, well all the appliances are small. I mean small as in I an dry one one pair of jeans at a time. The oven is bit larger than a Betty Crocker Easy Bake, and the turkey had an ass bigger than my 3rd grade teacher Mr. Roundbottom. So I become a bit more McGyver-ish and lube the bird down with some KY Jelly and go to peeling apples.

By the end of the day, we sat to have dinner at 9pm. Not because it took me all day to cook these items, ONE AT A FREAKING TIME...but because normally here in Spain, dinner is not until then! It was a feat keeping things warm and moist as I was finished cooking by 7pm. The reason for the wait: Papa Noel was coming.

the parents here find ingenious ways to figure out how to present these gifts to children while they are awake and anxious for his arrival. I will get into this tomorrow with another blog in itself because it is classic. So stay tuned.

So all in all, the turkey came out perfect, mashed potatoes were awed over by Johnny (due to the fact they were real potatoes and not instant), the cornbread stuffing was a hit, too. I added bacon and chilies to the mix and made it nice and tasty. I made two different types of gravy. One was a pan gravy flavored with a pinch of nutmeg and the other was made of homemade turkey stock and garlic. For dessert, I made a crust flavored with cream cheese filled with 3 different types of apples and a crumb topping. actually i made one with raisins for my own benefit. I was hoping no one would like the raisins and I would have it all to myself but no such luck.

In the end, everyone was pleased with an American holiday meal and I was pleased that I did not have to scrape a plate before doing dishes. I guess I can bring a little bit of my culture to this non baking soda having place.

Butifarra y'all

So the soccer season came to a close last Wednesday for the winter and my team, the girls team and the officers of the club (president, treasurer, etc) all came for a winter cook out. The main attraction is the BUTIFARRA (pronounced booty far ra...roll that tongue) and it is a long and tasty sausage. Nothing is special about this sausage to describe to you other than every one here in Catalonia, outside of the vegetarians, seems to go ape shit over it. Funny, I thought the event was called butifarra as everyone asked me if I was coming to the butifarrada. I thought it was a night club or something. I said yes and rushed home to ask Carme what the hell had I gotten myself into. The boys on the team seem to buzz with giddiness at the upcoming event. Jesus even made sure to ask me several times if i were going to be there. Partly to make sure I understood what he said in Spanish and partly because he probably could not sleep the night before over his uncontainable excitement.

Now part of my fear in these events is conversation. There were many people and out of 40 or so, only 2 spoke English. I am still not fluent enough to talk about random subjects. Sure I can talk about where I am from, how old I am and I can even say "my socks are wet from the flood that is encompassing our fair city" But random conversation is a bit more intimidating. Ok granted I will be with my soccer team and I have learned a lot of words in the way of soccer. Like I can say "run faster" or "pass the ball"...you know soccer terms. But still I am lacking. My trouble is not speaking as much as it is hearing. My oral comprehension is severly lacking as the language is likened to a rapid fire machine gun. I am not sure if I discussed this before but in the Spanish language, unlike in English, when you read a word, it sounds like it looks. there are no rules or special things to remember. An "a" always sound like an "a". There are no long vowels or words you just remember like "might". So when the language is spoken, it´s easy to read, write and pronounce but when hearing it, the words just run together. For example the word for slow or slowly is "despacio (day spa see oh or day spa thee oh )" but the word for office is "despacho (day spa cho)". These words sound similiar to me and I get stumped in why someone is running an office.

So I show up. And one of the officers, a big burly man whose name I can´t remember tells me he has my membership card for the club. you see despite being a coach, in order to pay Alex´s soccer fees at a cheaper price, I was givine a member´s fee. Carme was handling the finances and never paid my 80€ fee. So later in the dinner, he brought the card to me and put it up for me to see. He rattle on and I instinctively reached for it. He did not let it go. then when he would not let go and I was lost in his words ("you lost me at hola") I pulled a little tighter. His response: Tranquilo. he said it not just once but 3 times.

Now you can imagine what it might mean seeing as it resembles the word tranquil. It is used often here in common language and loosely means that every thing is ok, it´s cool, blah blah. But the way people say it and body language seems to mean to me ¨calm down". Now in English, if someone is waving a gun or ranting and raving like a lunatic, we would say calm down, right? Needless to say this dude is not on my sopping list for Christmas.

A conversation with alex....

Ok a few background notes before I get into it about Alex...

In Spain, there are a high number of motorcycles, mopeds, ATVs and dirt bikes that use the streets an highways. No ATVs or mopeds on the highways of course. But in the small towns and sometimes in between, you find yourself pulling double duty playing defensive driver with all the 2 wheeled motorists darting thru traffic. And when I say darting, I mean that exactly. Have you ever had a glass and filled it with stones? then proceeded to pour sand in it and watch the sand slip thru the larger stones as gravity pulls the grains down toward the bottom of the glass thus filling in all the little available spaces. Well the 2 wheelers of Spain are the grains of sand and driving lanes are the glass. I guess that makes me a big lumbering stone.

When you come to a red light, it´s common to see many helmeted motorist trickling their way to the front of traffic. as if it was their born right to be ahead of you. So I have a family and we all like to ride with some protection and a few airbags. Just because you decided to brave the cold winter winds on 50 miles to the gallon chariots does not make you better than me. If your power windows were not working and you decided to open your door to spit while stopped in traffic, beware, there may be a motorist or two in your blind spot creeping up on you.

And this behavior is not just for stop lights. It´s in moving traffic. In a normal 2 lane road there are actually 5 lanes, or so you would believe. here are the two clearly marked lanes for the cars, complete with a dashed center line, solid yellow line on the left and solid white on the right. then there are the passing lanes for motorbikes. the will pass you to the right, middle and left. I have spent a collective of 6 months total in Spain and seen too many fallen riders bathed in flashing lights from ambulances and police or tarps on the roads to count. thank goodness for laws on wearing a helmet.

The second part of the background story ties into the rituals and practices of the Xmas holiday. See here, Santa Claus is not the centerpiece of every child´s imagination this time of the year. Rather, this Catholic state focus on the Three Kings. You know the story of little baby Jesus in the manger visited by the 3 kings. Well that´s the big gift giving holiday here. so today, the helpers of the 3 kings visited Alex´s school. During this event, the children write cards to give to them to take to the 3 kings to inform the 3 kings of what they want for the holiday season in the way of gifts. Now onto my conversation with Alex...

So riding home tonight from dinner, I commented out loud at how disappointing it was that some bike riders...well all of them...seem to be a bit carefree and risky with their choices on the road. they cut you off and weave in and out of traffic without a care. It can be frustrating to a new driver in Spain as compared with driving down Rt. 301. Still I was frustrated enough to say it out loud. Of course, Alex, with his sonar shaped ears that ironically can hear every curse word I mange to utter but I have to tell him to brush his teeth 5 times a night, heard every word. Carme took this moment to bring up a funny story.

She asked Alex what he did at school today and he seemed reluctant to tell me. After some struggling, he went into the story of the visitors to his school today, the 3 kings´helpers. Being the slick parent, I asked him what he asked for in his letter to the 3 kings. He shyly regressed from telling me. I pushed further and he admitted I would be mad at him. After reassuring him that daddy would not be mad at him and I was genuinely interested, he responded after a long sigh and pause...he wanted a motorcycle.

in business

I am officially in business and working on my first project. It is a web site for a local bus company here in the Costa Brava area. Th company is names Girotransfer and they provide charter buses for groups all over the area. The specialize in groups doing tours, school field trips and senior citizen excursions. Here, more than back home, I see more senior citizens coming together as groups to enjoy their retirement and traveling everywhere within a bus trip´s reach. It saddens me to think that so many senior citizens in America seem to be in the work force. I am sure there are some that just enjoy working and meeting other people. But still I am sure there are those who work to afford health care or receive it in the first place. Still I am sure there are those who did not invest well (I am soon to be a victim of such events) and social security is just not enough.

Part of my trip here is to see things on the other side. It´s not necessarily "the grass is greener" as Spain has just as many issues as we do in America. The common denominator:humans. It´s human nature to create and fester some of the social issues we have. Carme and I got into a spirited debate on guns and weapons. We also finally got a chance to see the movie The Kingdom with Jamie Foxx and Jason Bateman. I was commenting on American´s 2nd amendment, Spain´s culture where guns are not freely available and Saudi Arabia´s miltary controlled state. 3 sides of the same lopsided coin. Based on culture, politics and current events, they shape the world we are in. Still I will take the restful night of no gunfire over a years lease in Gilpin Court.

So is my mission to fix the ills of the world? Certainly not. My mission is to experience and see human nature from the perspective of cultural standards. Still the more I look, the more things stay the same.

In America, there is a hot political issue with the influx of immigrants from Mexico and Latin America. Here in Spain, it is mirrored by the influx of Moroccans who cross the Strait of Gibraltar to find work and a better life for their families and children. The poor into the country looking for opportunity they can´t find in their own country due to corruption, violence and just plain bad luck. Spain has a thriving tourism industry since the death of the dictator Franco. Morocco has the misfortune of being in proximity to many Islamic states and some serious civil wars in the Sub Saharan regions of Africa. Still they come here to do work that most Spaniards don´t want to do. Much like the doctors and lawyers of Mexico coming to America to pick oranges in the orchards of southern California.

Do these African get a bit of appreciation? Are they welcomed with open arms? Well one day I may look into those questions as I have more and more conversations with the locals here. But how does this affect me being of African decent? I am not sure, since this is a small town and most people know I am from the United States rather than Africa. Still they look at me with a bit of confusions trying to read my life story in my eyes. Right now I cannot argue that I am being mistreated or handled when no one really initiates conversations with me knowing how poor my Spanish is. Still it´s quite amusing if I saw a bumper sticker which read¨"If you live in Spain...speak Spanish!!!"

Cultural differences...Christmas

Well of course there are cultural differences here in Spain. So Christmas is not spared the translations. More of a religious holiday, Xmas is more about the religious aspect and less about the kids and commercial holiday. Actually that is not fair. I cannot make assumptions on most Americans like that. Rather to me, in America, I am bombarded with buy, buy, buy and I lose focus on the religious side of things. still here there is an air of consumer frenzy...but in a small town like Tossa, I am somewhat sheltered in all of that.

Since there is no thanksgiving here, there is no "official start" to the season except to say that when November ends, then it´s time to start. I have not visited anyone´s homes since I have been here except my mother in law, Carmen and my sis in law, Natalia. they do not have any decorations up and I am not so sure they will. Carme is trying to bring a bit of America with her and she has the house all decorated and ready to go. Unfortunately our new cat, Messi, likes the shiny new toys gangling from the limbs of our fake tree. Yes, we bought a fake tree last year and shipped it with us. We had to go find a new star to put atop the tree but that was a scavenger hunt unto itself.

On Xmas eve families are together to share a meal...a pretty big one and I think I will be doing all the cooking this year. Xmas day is not full of all the presents we like to do in America but so far I think we are the only ones in town with a tree decorated. Not sure if that´s the thing to do here or not. We will be getting Alex a few presents and of course my mom is sending them by the bulk load. Typically they all go to church and even though it´s a bit more diversified here in Spain, the majority of the people are Catholic. there are a few Muslims and in the larger cities there are some Jewish people. There are many more religions here but they practice a little bit more quietly I am sure. Funny, another major difference here, and I have not taken a poll or anything, but after watching some news programs, it seems the Spanish are more sympathetic to the plight of the Palestinians rather than the big bad and abusive Israel government. It´s amazing how a news program can edit the same story written in history to make you feel and think other ways. Don´t believe me, watch CNN then switch to Fox news. Maybe you will agree.

The big "kid" celebration doesn´t come until Jan 6. That is the 3 King Day...and you thought it was a movie starring George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg and Ice Cube. This is representing the 3 kings coming across the desert for little baby Jesus. Well the funny thing about that is that of the 3 kings, one had dark skin...or so the story goes. So they have either a celebrity African, most likely a soccer player, to do some publicity shots as the third king. In each town they have a parade. Well most towns have it i am sure. They have the "3 kings", which includes some yoke with black paint on his face. not brown...Black. he looks like some military guy with camouflage and it´s never done well. They ride thru town in the night throwing candy at kids. To be really historically accurate, you need camels or at least horses. Most times, there are none laying around so they ride in on the back of pickups or on John Deere tractors or ATV drawn wagons to launch the massive rains of candy and treats. I find it funny b/c it´s hard to see little bits of candy being hurled at you in the evening hours. the lighting is like if you stood on Broad St. , just west of Staples Mill Rd. this is where the city ends and the county begins. You can tell because broad St. goes from being pretty well lit to pretty damn dark. Well imagine standing in front of Krispie Kreams and being launched a handful of M&Ms. Wear safety goggles. Some is going to lose an eye I swear.

The parade then proceeds to the local church. How do they know which church? Well they are catholic and there is usually only one church in these small towns. I would assume in Barcelona there is a bigger parade leading to some huge church to accommodate all that follow. What they do in the churches I don´t know but the wife mumbles about brainwashing.

Also they have this thing called cagatio (ka ga tee oh) where it´s a small log, with a painted on face and a Santa hat, that is draped in cloth and kids beat it with a stick until the poor log poops out presents. Sad I say. I do not understand this concept at all so fill in your own comments.

At the end of the day, your family and / or friends and share a ring shaped bread. the bread is slightly sweet and possibly topped with dried fruit and/or a bit of icing. inside the bread is baked 2 items. one is a stone or a dried bean and the other is a ceramic small figurine representing a king. whomever gets the king in their slice ..."wins". what they win I do not know but I never got anything. the few times I have done this i have gotten the king but i think it was done out of niceness. the one who gets the stone...they have to pay for the bread. Never mind being so hungry and having only bread and wine for dinner might cause you to rush and bite into he stone and lose a tooth. Good things there is not much in the way of liability lawsuits.

you guys do know...

You do not have to wait for me to load pictures to the blog...you can just go here and look for yourselves

http://picasaweb.google.com/demond32

where have 6 years gone?

I now realize why I feel so old. Well we all know this if we have children. you see we count their days as they grow and forget out our as they pass by silently. I am just coming to the realization that 6 years has past me by without blinking. I have enjoyed everyone of them. every breath, every sigh. My son has reached the age of 6 years old and I take this time to look back on that milestone with the detail and the respect it deserves.

Alex was born on a rainy Saturday morning at 10:23am ET. I know it was rainy because I had to walk outside to thank God for the health of my new family. Of course I could have done it inside the room but I needed a little fresh air to cry in private while Carme too a well deserved nap and Alex was being prepared by the nurses to lay in my arms for the first time.


I remember the event proceeding his birth and what seemingly were obstacles at the time, but there was no stopping this bright, handsome and witty child from discovering the world in front of him. I remember him saying so much to me while in his mother´s belly. And we continued the conversation as we sat quietly, me holding him, barely a few hours old, staring into one another´s eyes, each studying the other, forming a bond unbreakable.

Still to this day, I can barely contain my excitement when I see him coming around the corner from school. It´s all I can do to keep from screaming his name and running to him. he is my light and I feel hollow without my little partner in crime. Sure sometimes he takes the better part of the day to ask me "why" questions. I can still hear myself asking my mother some of the same question around my sixth birthday.

I light up when i hear him laugh. Thank you God for giving him my genes and being so incredibly ticklish. A "tickle-me-Elmo" of my own. I am blessed everyday with the ringing of him smile as it deafens me with joy.

I had to hold him still yesterday for a shot. All I wanted to do was hold him and run away from that needle. But I know it´s for his own good. I thought punching the doctor in the jaw would ultimately go against my residency here in the long run.

Despite his wide open curious mind, his fear is sometimes insurmountable. He is afraid of most things that kids his age are afraid of (strangers, the dark, shot, stray dogs, etc.) But his fear is seemingly a bit more pronounced. Don´t worry, you are your father. I have a million fears. Anyone who tells you they have no fear, then shake the hand of that fool. I fear being apart from you so much if makes my throat start to close and my eyes swell with tears. daddy might not catch you when you fall, but he is here to help you stand up like a man is supposed to be. Lessons I never had the fortune of being taught by my father.

So for his birthday, we took him to a cool restaurant called Earthquake Cafe. the whole theme were like we were taking a shuttle down to the center of the earth where these weird creatures lived and created earthquakes. the floor was rigged to simulate an earthquake so during the 4 part show, where actors put on skits with these costumed creatures, they would hit a button and the floor would tremble and shake. The waitresses would come to the table and on queue grab the kids glasses to prevent them from tipping over. I even got to be a part of the show, mostly to impress Alex and Noelia. Anyhow, the initial elevator ride down was just a one floor drop but the windows had this material going faster to make it seem like we were going faster than we were and farther than you would think. Alex believed it and broke into a ferocious crying fit. after the show and lunch, we got to take a "shuttle" back up which merely raised us one floor but the movie made it seemed like we were on the SS Enterprise. Alex did not like the motion sensor air ducts which made him nearly wet his pants. I have to get that video for you.

Afterwards I had a soccer game in Tossa and we hurried off. I set my watch to alarm me at the precise moment Alex was born. All I could do was smile as my watch told me "6 years has passed...how are you going to spend the next 6 years?"

Now going forward...things we have to accomplish together:
take those training wheels off
get you a professional soccer contract
get mom to let us have our All Candy day once a month
teach you the art of smooth talking
see how curly your hair can get
teach you how to wipe the seat off
love you unconditionally
travel the world
can´t be better friends so
teach me to be patient and allow you to grow without smothering you
show me the beauty of the world i lost when i came to adulthood
love mommy so she goes a little insane from two handsome men at her side


Happy Birthday Alex

My own business....

Part of my plan of moving to Spain was to open my own computer repair shop. Tossa is just coming into the 21st century and there is one shop in town that is getting bad reviews. So I figure this would be like taking candy from a baby...well a big baby that speaks another language that I have to learn very quickly!

I started posting my web page last month and it´s finally coming together. Check it out if you would like. I am still missing one page in English and some pages in other languages. but I should have it all up by Christmas.

www.costabravasi.com

Doctor´s visit

Alex had to get a shot today. You think we took him to a concentration camp....what a teary episode...ha ha

The Canary Islands -Tenerife

So what can I say---my second trip to the island of Tenerife was a lot more adventurous and comfortable than my first. The first trip to Tenerife was in Dec. 2001 with Carme´s parents. driving around the island, a lot of fond memories came flooding back. From the Camel rides thru the park to driving a deuce and a half around the island up impossible hills and inclines thru the narrow streets (don´t ask). Either way, back then I had as much Spanish knowledge as an Ashlander walking into a taco Bell restaurant. this time...well ..I had a bit more knowledge...more like a west-ender walking into Casa Grande in Short Pump. Still, I was ready and armed to speak my new Spanish vocal skills. But to my dismay, there were more Brits there than you can shake a pint of beer at!

We landed on a Sunday in the southern airport of Tenerife. And that´s sort of a good thing. You see the Island feels like two separate islands. the north is plush and green and has more of a changing weather pattern. the south is dry and warmer, like the desert. So it´s sort of like having Arizona attached to Kentucky. The change is noticeable temperature wise and visually. It´s almost like driving along the highway and running into a large shadow cast by a cloud. You can almost feel the approaching coldness or winds. Being that we again used Ryanair with incredibly cheap flights, we had to take the only flight they offered and arrive there around 10am local time. Our hotel was not ready until 4pm so we had time to kill. Despite rising before the sun, driving 45 minutes to the airport with two very cranky kids (Alex and Noelia) and again riding in plane with seat that will not recline, I walked like a zombie thru the Tenerife airport. After getting our rental car, we decided to head to the northern part of the island, to a city known for it´s tourism, Puerta de la Cruz.

P.C. (we will call it that for short) is a gorgeous little tourist town situated right on the Atlantic Ocean. I always marvel in the crashing waves on the rocks. There is a walkway with millions of shops lining the rocks situated about 40-60 above the crashing waves. Also there is a restaurant situated there so you can feel the ocean spray on your face. I guess that way, your steak is never dry and lightly salted.

The other awkward thing about this town is ever 10 shops or so, there are Indians with electronics shops. the sell cameras, Ipods, Mp3 and Mp4 players, DVD, car stereos, etc. And they all have the same merchandise. Not to be mean, but I think they rotate stores also. I am convinced there is some back and forth going on as they might blow off one customer just to see him go to another location and buy the same camera for slightly cheaper, to spite the first salesman, thinking they got over. Still, I am used to going to one Target and staying so long that I think I am in another Target location. Since they are all laid out the same way, I am not sure if I am at Willow Lawn or Hull St and have to actually go outside to settle my internal conflict. So like most tourists, I was attracted to the shiny new electronics. I spent 4 days haggling and settling on a camera I wanted. still in the end, Ebay is the way to go I swear.

Not to bore you with too many details, we spent the whole week enjoy moderately warm temperatures on the black sand beaches and poolside. The beaches have black sand due to the volcano situated in the middle of the island. The volcano is called Tiede and is 3,718 metres (12,198 ft) above sea level. from what I can gather from wikipedia, it hasn´t erupted for quite some time. still in the winter months it is snow covered despite the islands almost subtropic location. also Johnnie told me they shot Star Wars in the area which brought excitement to Alex but of course when we ventured up to the base of the volcano, the museum was closed for repairs....sigh. Still I have no confirmation of that.

Some of the pools were fed straight from the Atlantic Ocean, sans the sharks and coral reefs. Of course there were plenty of things to do that were beach related. On Friday, Carme and I took a charter boat to catch fish. She laid out and read a book on the deck while I manned one of 8 heavy rods with a few other fellows in the rear. I had to make sure she kept her top on so the boat´s captain doesn´t go around and around in circles.

Of the colorful characters in the rear fishing with me, there was one gentleman in particular who seemed to have the most intense time. He was proud of his fishing attire. i could tell by the way this German fellow would puff his chest and roll his belly in a particular sequence to make the shark on his t-shirt seem to come alive! Still after each catch, he measured and weighed each fish. and to document the whole trip, he took cameras with his mobile phone and two cameras, one digital and one film. I wonder if he had trouble convincing others and needed documented proof. But taking a picture next to his beer gut would make any fish seem dwarfish, he should have used other points of reference.

The boat´s first mate, Paulo, was a nice guy from Sevilla. We spoke in only Spanish and I felt proud to be able to understand him and he, seemingly, understood me. He and I shared glances, not in a homosexual way, not that there is anything with being gay, but in a shared joke kind of way. We secretly laughed at Otto (the German...possibly not his name but it´s funny to me) as he weighed each fish while trying to hold steady on the deck as the boat splashed in the waves. We patrolled a good sized area of the waters, hoping to catch a bite. since we had taken off at 9:30, we figured we would have some good catches. At 9:36am, Oto was measuring the first batch of tuna to grace our deck. It seemed like for an hour, we could not pull the tuna on board fast enough. hour 2 was moderate. Hour 3 seemed like the fish were taking a siesta. Hour 4...Jackpot. In all we pulled on board about 15 tuna with me reeling in 4.

The boat then took off and pulled up it´s rods and we rendezvoused with another ship which made lunch for us. We had a nice lunch of potato salad, Spanish rice (they just call it rice. Like going to China for Chinese food) and turkey drumsticks. All the while I was thinking about how I would cook up one of these carcasses I fought so bravely from the sea. Paulo was nice enough to gut the tuna so all I had to do was filet the bad boy when I got back to my hotel/apartment.

Oh I forgot to tell you about the hotel. We stayed in a really nice hotel with individual apartments in Los Christianos. The apartment was equipped with a kitchen and all so i got to do some cooking like I said before. Sadly I discovered the baking equipment a few days late and did not get to do any damage. But I surely took care of that tuna. I even think the tuna was proud of what I did with it. Nothing too fancy...just poached it with slices of lemons and a pinch of salt. I added that to Natalia´s rice (which was long grain white rice boiled in coconut milk instead of water) and sauteed vegetables. Good eating.

Being that Tenrife is basically like a huge 10 gallon hat with a thin brim, most of the roads were narrow and winding along hills and valleys along the coast. There are 2 major highways we used to go from the south to the north and to go from the south to the east of the island. Most of the roads either wind up and down hills side, snaking thru the elevation changes. The interstates are more built for speed of course but as soon as you get off, pray for good a suspension system in your rental. They say Tenerife was formed millions of years ago from some serious volcanic action that fused 3 separate islands together (hence the difference in the vegetation...cactus and aloe in the south...grass and tan sand to the north). So there is no place you can go without changing elevation faster than your ears can adjust. I spent the majority of the time fighting with my Eustachian tubes. Alex even had a hard time. With ears like his, you would never imagine it huh?

One day we decided to make a trip up to the volcano. I did not take advantage and go to the top of the volcano due to the fact I did not want to go alone. It cost 30€ for one person and I did not want to go without Alex and I did not want to pay for Carme...ha ha. So we drove on.

So after a week of relaxing and seeing a majority of the Island, I brought back a few pictures for you to check out. enjoy!

look it up...

I am on the sunny island of Tenerife...look it up :)

I met my long lost father...

So this is a story...true to life...that happened to me soon after arriving to Spain. Let´s set it up...

here in Spain, things move very slow. paperwork is the slowest of all things. I am sure there is some reason behind it all but it takes months to get your paperwork done for your residency. Of course it would take longer if i were not married to a Spanish citizen. This paperwork seems to not be done in one place. Still with the new invention's of fax lines, the Internet and online forms, paperwork still moves slowly.

So rumor has it that you have to arrive early in the morning to get in line and expect to wait all day just to talk to someone. So we brave the dark early morning hours with alternating high and low beams thru the hills and winding roads to head north to Girona. Down what i would consider "back roads", we sped thru the stretches of road from one small town to another. Finally we reached Girona and Carme told me to go up to the building and wait in an already forming line. As I wait in the dark morning, hoping no one comes up to me and asks me something and I panic and cannot understand their Spanish. mind you I had only been in the country 2 weeks at this point. As soon as I think this, I notice a man in this loosely formed lined now turned and facing me and smiling. It´s dark and maybe i am not seeing him well in the shadows of the dimly lit street. I could tell the man was African, older ...maybe about mid to late 50´s, and slightly shorter than I. The reflection of the street lights in his glasses made me wonder was he looking at me or staring off in the distance.

Just then I felt the man make a motion towards me. Was this it? was he here to rob me? Was he here to talk me to death like my people we from his tribe before slavery? So he stuck his hand out to me as offering a handshake. Still this motion could not be taken as a threat, as outreaching of a hand in any culture would be considered peaceful, still i reluctantly shake his. He laughs this deep and guttural laugh. One could consider it a sinister laugh but if you read on you will see why I was not sure at his intentions by his laughing alone.

So after what seemed to be an eternity, he finally spoke, still not letting go of my hand. I tried to peek over my shoulder to see if a criminal partner was slowly sneaking up on me to snatch my bag or something, but I did not want to take my eyes of Kunte Kinte. So he is speaking and i am not catching a word he is saying. and it´s not because he is speaking Spanish. quite frankly, i am not sure what language he is speaking. He sounds like he is gurgling and drowning and I can´t make out anything. i can´t even read his lips. Then reality sets in...I wonder if this is a ploy for his partner to come along and knock me over the head. Maybe they are delaying me and attacking Carme in the parking garage. I frantically look around and i see my wife strolling across the street. i could not be more relieved to see her. I quickly mentioned for her to come join this train wreck of a conversation.

The look on her face was priceless and I felt a wave of reassurance as she obviously could not tell what this man was saying as his gurgling and mumbling continued. Out of kindness, we both sat and tried to piece together what he was saying. Finally, Carme showed the man mercy and said in Spanish "i cannot understand a damn word you are saying to me...sorry". the man motions to us to wait a second as he is unbuttoning his top botton of his shirt. I am thinking to myself, was the shirt that tight to cause him not to be able to speak.

Just then, the sun broke thru the tall building of this metropolis and a ray of light bathed this strange man. At first i thought it was a sun flare but after instinctively turning my head, raising my hand and squinting to bloke the bright light shining in my eyes, I realized it was not bling bling reflecting this light...but a VOICE BOX! This man had just had surgery, we find out once he pulls out his battery operator voice box hand control. Now we can understand him! Still we are taken back by the fact that we have not ever spoken to a person with a voice box, together or alone. i can tell by the silent look Carme and I give each other during the man´s telling of his important story he now has to retell. he goes on and on and i am lost...I am only catching a few words but not able to make much sense of it all. Usually people here speak with their arms in such an animated way that you think you are in a game of charades (first word...sounds like...). but sadly this man is stuck with one arm to motion with and it is not working.

So as the story goes on, I am looking into Carme´s face to get some indication as to what this man wants. By now I am figuring he is not here to rob us so I relax and wait. The man stops speaking and turns to me and just smiles a serious smile, not once taking his eyes off of me. Carme is speaking now and I am still mesmerized by his unbreakable glance. Not until Carme tells me the story do I break eye contact with him and look at her with amazement. this man has just told Carme that I am his long lost son. I was to meet him here with a friend named Marta who found me and was bringing his son to meet him and he wanted to know where was Marta.

I know, i know...but it´s true. i am not lying.

so after politely telling the man that i am not his son, the man seems hurt and disappointed. Like i was playing some cruel joke on him intentionally. he retreats back into line, sulking a bit. Carme and I can´t do anything but stifle our laughs. The reason is that i often express to her how as an African American, I feel almost obligated to some how connect with the Africans here in Spain. Almost like my spiritual Mecca or my Alex Haley´s "Roots". It´s hard to explain but historically, blacks in America never felt like part of America (civil rights, Jim Crow laws, lynching, etc) and with the inception of African in our race title...well that just implies we have some ties to the continent. yeah I know there was a failed movement in the 70´s (dashikis and afro picks) and the 80´s (I wore an African medallion myself). But there has been no concentrated effort to follow Marcus Garvey back to Africa. Not with all the bad press they are getting. So anyhow, Carme ribs me about my new African friend and I was not allowed to let that go one bit.

So to make a short story long, we finally get inside to talk to someone and despite complying with the requirements listed on the web page, it seems we have to get 2 more pieces of information and are sent on a scavenger hunt which will take us to Blanes and to Barcelona on two separate days. I swear, all this waiting in line for nothing...sigh.

So why does this process take so long? I have an idea. You see after returning to Girona after venturing on the scavenger hunt around the coast Brava area, we went int to finally turn in all the collected items. So back to Girona first thing in the morning to wait in the line to start the process of finally getting my residency card. We were very early and needed a special queue so we were first in that line. second in line was this man and woman. the man was short, pale and thin as a rail. the woman was almost as tall as I and African and looked like she could bench press a bus...not just any bus but one of those luxury ones. She had shoulders the width of a single lane by way. This woman was huge, beautiful and Queen Latifah-ish but probably some James Bond assassin girl or something. Well anyway, to finish painting the picture, this woman stood a fool two feet over this man. Carme and I never thought much about them as many people come to this office with their immigration lawyers. But actually they were in our line. We did not put 2 and 2 together until we actually heard them say it. That much in Spanish I could understand.

Now I see why paperwork takes so long...to discourage those trying to pass one over on immigration. If this were an actual couple, she would break this man in tiny pieces with one well timed thrust! She was used to Shaka Zulu, Mr. Peabody is not making a dent in her chassis.

Amsterdam pt2...into the city

So now we are all settled into our residence for the night and decide to head out on the town. Amsterdam is a about 20 minutes away and we are driving a rental car we got from Germany. Johnnie seems to think that the car will be vandalized, since we have plates from Germany, if we park it in the city. So best we park outside and take the metro into town. So we head to the station about 3 stops away and brave the cold for a 10 minute wait for the next train.

A few minutes later, we pulled up into central station. Central station is not some underground receptacle like Penn Station NYC. It´s like a bunch of street cars that all seem to converge in one area. the streets are filled with cars, trains, pedestrians and bicycle riders. I swear to make a fortune, you can open a bike repair shop there. All the bikes seem a bit outdated by American standards. No deep treaded tires on mountain bikes or 15 speed long distance riders. Seems like bikes with a need for a a wicker basket. They do have cute little bells to warn you when they are approaching you from the rear.

Amsterdam is relatively flat and most of the area is under sea level like New Orleans. Most of the area is protected by dams or what they call dikes. These dams are fortified but Johnnie tells me one broke in the 50´s and a lot of people died fro the flooding. Yippee! So take a look at a map of Amsterdam...there are nothing but canals everywhere. You are crossing water whether you like it or not. i guess the canals are for the drunks to have a place to urinate at a moments notice or to wash out the streets after a profitable night in the red light district.

Speaking of the Red light district....it´s INSANE!!! An outside shopping mall for prostitution. It´s not a strip mall like Willow lawn, it´s more like a labyrinth of debauchery an ill repute. As you wind down a main canal, there are windows...small rooms with a full length window where the girls...and some boys who are girls...stand there in bikinis and such trying to entice the casual passerby to taste their wares. black, white, tall or short...real or fake...all within footsteps of one another. And i here that it´s so accepted, the cops know the girls and patrol to make sure they are OK. They even have the area clearly marked on city maps for your conveince.

Some of the more interesting things I saw was the banana bars. email me if you want to know what goes on there but WOW!!!

anyhow...soon we were out of the district and passing by one of a million sex shops with all their wares in the store window...and i mean anything you can imagine or have a nightmare about. Sickening and exciting at the same time. We turned a corner and in one breath...a nice whiff of the coffeehouses that are strategically placed in prime spots around the area. We happened past a corner spot called the Jolly Joker. we joked about going to get some coffee rather than something else...but the stench was too thick for one to see the actual bar. After more questions, i found that there are some weird laws here in Holland. It´s illegal to grow marijuana. It is NOT illegal to posses a small amount of it. It is tolerated to be sold...hence the shops but the small amount you can buy at a time. So the question is...if it illegal to grow...then how do the shops get it to sell it? I am sure if I had taken the time to sit back and inhale the sweet smells of nature´s own, I would have spent an eternity thinking on that matter.

So with my mind full of visions to make Rick James lick his lips...we decided to call it a night and head back to our places for a night of sleep and more discovery the next day...maybe i will write more on that but for now here are the pic:

call me one eyed Jack

So it´s Tuesday night and my eye has been itching since I got on the plane to go to Amsterdam. I had been fighting it for a while and trying not to worry about it. So tuesday night, I noticed my eye was a bit red and not feeling too hot. so I fall asleep...

I wake up wednesday looking like I got in a bar fight and my left eye not matching my right. Well my right one was normal and my left one was about 3 times the size it was the night before. Seems like I have some kind of sty or ifection in my eyelid. It´s not affecting my vision other than being so swollen I cannot keep the eye open even with effort. Some how I never got the gene to be able to raise my left eyebrow without moving my right one, So for the first few hours this morning, I was walking around like I had this suprised look on my face until my eyes became so exhausted i just relaxed.

Also having only one eye to use, I have no depth perception. Carme just handed me a drink and I almost dropped it not reaching out far enough. I decided to put a patch over my eye to hide the hideous display of my one frog eye. So needless to say, I can´t drive nor can I go to soccer practice tonight. This is not promising for my little vacation in the Canary Islands. Worse yet, Alex´s birthday is this Saturday and I don´t want to be mistakened for the pirate who should be entertaining the children at th party. It´s going to be hard to enjoy myself on the topless beaches of volcanic ash with only one good eye. Do you know how many times I have had to mop the bathroom floor. AUGH!!!

I have been to hell...and it´s called AMSTERDAM...but i loved it

Okay...I am still catching my breathe from Amsterdam. What can I say about it. It´s got a million different cultures, foods, and sights. I can´t seem to say enough about it but if you want to know history and all, you need to go to a library or something.

So Alex, Carme, Natalia (Carme´s sis), Noelia (natalia´s daughter), Johnnie (Natalia´s husband...who is dutch) and I all are on this trip to visit and stay with his family in Holland. Carme, Alex and I were to sleep in the house of her parents and the rest were to go to Johnnie´s brother´s house for the few nights. More on the sleeping arrangements later.

They have this Irish airline called Ryanair which offers some cheap flights. The only twist is you get what you pay for in the way of service. So when we got to the counter to check in, we were hit with a 3€ charge for not doing the online check in. Well to their defense, you can only buy tickets online so not having Internet access is not an excuse. Still, the tickets were only 18€ so I can´t complain. Also, there is no checking of luggage under the plane. you have to carry it all and you are limited in what you can carry on board of course. And don´t expect to be handed a bag of stale peanuts...you pay for what you get and you pay out the nose for a 3-swallow can of coke. I think you ever get to inspect the plane before you take off. ha ha. Also, it seems they only fly to smaller airports. Small enough to be remote but large enough to land a 737-800...which is about 180 passengers.

So we head over to the gate and we see this long line forming. We figure for 18 euros it´s every man for himself, right? Well they had one line for people who already checked in (they get to sit first. Never mind the handicapped or people with small children) and then there is the rest of us. Natalia and her family did the online check in so they got on board before us and saved us a row of seats so we could all be together. Funny thing is when you are allowed to go to the plane, it is indeed every man for himself. The best of people come out as we make a mad dash to the plane to hurry and get a seat. As we make it to the plane, an old lady tripped me with her walker and dashed ahead of me. Still my mother taught me manners so instead of drop kicking her, i gave her a wedgie with her granny panties. Sad thing is she was wearing a thong with the really high hip cut so I had to search a bit to get a good grip. So I rode her and her walker, like a rodeo, until I got a grip. Once on the plane, there was a row waiting for me. I felt sorry about the wedgie I gave the old lady but she deserved it. As I sat down and started to dose off as we were running a bit late but i think I remember the captain asking if anyone was able to give him a jump so we can get flying.



We took off from Girona (which is the largest city in this area outside of Barcelona and landed in a small German town called Wheeze. I figured the town was full of asthmatics and smokers, but who knows. I noticed the area looked a bit military like. Johnnie confirmed that it was an old German airbase. Still it was a little creepy in that it seemed like a setting for a concentration camp.


Soon, we were out of the town (Alex likes to ask if we are "out of town yet" whenever we go away anywhere). After two hours of flying and getting a great view of the Swiss Alps, we were heading to our decent into the small industrial town of Weeze, Germany. We landed and it was cold. Check online conversions because i still can´t do it in my head...but we went from 20 degrees C to 4 degrees in one flight. Luckily I brought my gloves, hat and heavy coat.

All my life I have heard of the audobon. A highway where you can drive just as fast as you want. So i turned to Johnnie and his infinite knowledge of Germany and ask him where the audobon is. He laughed and said, right here...and there...and pointed to the map at 500 other ones. You see, I never took the time to look up the audobon on wikipedia. If i did i would know it was spelled autobahn, ha ha. I found out that the autobahn is a collective system of highways across Germany, Switzerland and Austria. There are posted "recommended" speed limits but you can go as fast as you damn well. Johnny decided to to go about 160km/h (99 miles per hour). woo hoo! Unfortunately the drive to the border was all of 5 minutes long at the rate, and we were forced back down to the standard 120 km/h (74 mph). Then it seemed like eternity to get to Johnnie´s parent´s home.

So back to these sleeping arrangements. Well Carme and I slept at Johnnie´s parents house. His mother, Hattie, is from Indonesia, but she speaks English and Dutch also. Johnnie´s father, who just survived major lung surgery, also speaks English so we had a nice little conversation while we waited for Johnnie´s brother to arrive.

Johnnie´s brother is also half Dutch and Indonesian. he married a lady from Thailand name King and they have two kids, guy and Natasha. It´s really quite amazing when we all sit to eat or talk. it´s like the United Nations. at anytime, there are 3 or 4 languages going around and of course my American tongue can only do so much damage. Still this is one of the reasons I am here in Europe.

More later...

my european tour starts with...

I am going to the Netherlands tomorrow. I am excited and kinda dreading it due tot he fact that is it probably -5 Celsius...if you don´t know how that that is...well it´s below freezing. Carme, Alex and I are going with her sister, Natalia, Noelia, her niece and Johnny, Nata´s husband. Johnny is from Holland so we are visiting and staying with his brother and his wife and kids. Alex should have a good time playing with the other kids. They may speak a little English but kids seem to work it out.

What are we going to do while we are there? Well lots of ideas are flying around but we are flying into Germany, then renting a car and driving to Holland from there. I am sure i will catch a windmill or two in the countryside. Maybe even a dyke (artificial made kind that is). But I am going to explore 3 of my favorite sides and I am sure you can all guess.

One...I intend on spending some relaxing time in the coffee shops (if you have not heard about the coffee shops in Amsterdam well think of Cheech and Chong opening up a retail store...think of Rick James´ ¨Mary Jane" blaring over the sound system and Willie Nelson sitting in the VIP box).

Two---I intend on walking thru, very slowly...the red light district. And I intend on snapping quite a few pictures so prepare for the carnage! Look but no touch of course.

Three...I intend on eating lots of pancakes. I hear they have the best pancakes in the world. Well I intend on busting a gut in some way since i am not in the states to enjoy Thanksgiving.

Anyhow, stay tuned boys and girls, pictures and stories to follow---

the comforts of home...

There was another important aspect of living in Spain I had to learn to circumvent, bring the comforts of home here. What I mean by this is that with the age of the Internet, who is to stop me from looking at my favorite television shows or listen to my favorite radio stations. Well the answer is Copyright lawyers.


You see here in Spain, there is a block on content from the US to Spain. Why? Well Spain is not so worried about copyright laws as they are about the war on terror (Madrid train bombing), rebuilding from having a dictatorship up until 1975 (my cousin Ray-Ray is still recovering from some bad weed from 1975) and some internal conflicts with some ethnic groups wanting to be separated from mother Spain (Basque, Catalans, etc.).


So my splash of cold water awakened me to this travesty when I thought I would go to abc.com to check out the newest shows for the fall season...well, specifically, they said to me "since your busted a*s is in Spain, you get´s no play, shorty!" I was taken aback. I mean I have worked in computers and the Internet for years and never thought they could do such a thing to such a frequent flyer! So I tried nbc.com. i like NBC better anyhow...


Well NBC spanked me like a newborn and waited for me to cry to spank me again! I was deflated and devastated. No reason to even go to CBS.


So the next morning I decide to look for my favorite morning show and see if I can get it streamed to me. Usually I am never up early enough to catch him tarting at 6am and I would work the late morning shift or the too early to comprehend shift and miss his show entirely. So now I can catch him at 12 noon and enjoy him for a full 4 hours. But again, I was dropped short of my dream when the reality of the Internet hit me.

Now don´t get me wrong, I am resourceful. I can find ways around anything. Well most anything. that´s half of the fun of modding things or finding new and resourceful ways of getting around. What did we ever do before computers?

So with much persistence, I can now download every episode of ¨Heroes" (I collected comic books so what did you expect?), "My name is Earl" (love rednecks) and Weeds (no comment). Also, I now get my Steve Harvey at noon and listen into the afternoon and don´t miss a beat 106.5 the beat to be exact).

learning the laws...

One thing about moving to a new country, find someone local with some sense to explain or catch you doing something illegal. I am not talking about like buying drugs or prostitution, common sense takes over in those categories. I am talking about little things that we take for granted or abuse in America.
Last Sunday I was driving thru the town on the way to have lunch with a school buddy of Carme´s and her family. Now the town is but so big but for some reason, Carme wanted me to call her brother in law, Johnnie, to ask him about satellite service...you see here in Spain, television is not the favorite past time. The programming is boring, even for me who can´t understand a word, but I can tell that they spend a lot of time talking about celebrities and athletes.


So I am driving down main street, about to enter one of the rondas (circular ways used to change direction or U-turn back down the street you came...this is opposed to installing traffic lights where there is little traffic) when I had the right of way and this other car decided to jet out in front of me. Playing the defensive driver I halted. The car stopped in front of me (envision me coming into the circle from the 6 o´clock position and the other car coming in from the 3 o´clock position...here, there is no right of way but left of way...ha ha). when i decided to edge forward, so did he and both of us stopped again and he and I just made eye contact. Then I told Johnnie to hold on, as I could not concentrate on her unselfish attempts to speak with me in English (I mean he is Dutch, they all speak English from the womb) and i dropped the phone into my lap and stared this knucklehead down in front of my car. By some chance my chance glance into the car alarmed me that he was in fact a local police officer. As to what seemed to be a lifetime, he finally signalled to me that I should not be talking on the phone and driving at the same time.


OK here is my issue, why not give me a freaking ticket rather than risk life and limb at 10 miles per hour while playing chicken in a rondas? I mean if I break the law, give me a ticket and I am sure to learn my lesson. I am all for paying debt to society (sans death penalty). I am sure I will get the message quick. Still this moron accelerates to cut me off rather than burning a calorie to flick on his flashing blue light. I guess he was too bothered to do the paperwork. But at the rate they do paper work in this country (for example my residency) I will forget I even got a ticket months later.

oh the horror

I am sorry I just have to quickly comment on one aspect of pain that can drive the Pope to commit homicide...the freaking flies here in Spain!

The common house fly here is Spain is a different breed than that of the American house fly. Despite their tiny little accents (el buzzzzzzzo), they look and act just like the american housefly, but they are mutations above those in Virginia. They fly around slowly, almost lazily, taunting you. They fly so slow you can see them actually flicking you off with thier middle mandibles. Don´t don´t make much of a sound to be quite honest. but when they land on you, they seem to tap dance while they are there. What i mean is sometimes a fly can land on your bare skin and you never know it. These bad boys can leave a bruise.

And since they fly around so slowly, your naked eye can focus on them and tell whether it is a boy or a girl. You swing at them with the false notion you can actually hit one of them. But it´s something out of the matrix I swear. You swing and you swing and your arm goes into instant slow motion as they fly rings around you. I see how the giant got caught in Gulliver´s Travels.

When you do hit them, make sure you have a sweatband and bowler´s wrist brace on. You might kill one after 3 tries. At that point I think they are laughing so hard at you that they drop their guard and allow themselves to be hit. The first swing was dead on, yet he flew around my head and I heard the faintests of laughs as he buzzed by my ear. Then the second try was with more effort and frustration. You know the type of swing where you rush it, when you knew you should have had it the first swing, but you miss, and as your brain realizes as you start your downward swing onto the location of where you thought the fly was resting in plain site, your brain now realizes the fly has flown away but it´s too late to stop the swing and that is a bit of energy you will not ever get back as now you have a hernia from the thrusting and possibly a dislocated shoulder. Just then your brain also realizes that that vision in your sight is the fly coming for you, so you think you have the charm and reflexes of a ninja warrior and try to divert your swing, which still has not made it to the first location, and use the inertia spent before to swing in an upward motion as you have your heat sinking missles locked on this newly acquired target. Well instead, if only someone was filming, you would truly see yourself for the ridiculous fool you are as you swing and swipe in circular motions about your head and neck trying to catch a fly only to realize that you are out of breath and dizzy from the experience.

So let´s give up and walk away...yea right. You spend all day, not allowing your windows to open in case he flies out (because darnit, you are going to avenge your "home videos funniest" moment, and you are too tired to deal with any of his other buddies looking for a laugh at your expense. So you spend all day creeping around the house. making sure there is always something in reach suitable for smacking the crap out of that fly. By midday you have even named the fly something like Jose...to make it more personal, all the while not realizing you have passed over that lost remote you could not find 6 months ago. But you are too focused on your mission to realize. You won´t leave the house nor invite anyone else over to save yourself from the embarrassment and pain. And just when you have given up and realized you lost a day of your life to this obsession...there he is. sitting pretty. resting comfortably. You wonder to yourself, had he been there for the past 13 hours and you just overlooked him.

Oh no, you let your guard down and you can find anything suitable to smack the living daylights out of it. You sweat and panic. It´s like high noon and you are facing the fastest gunner in the west without your gun. You search and search, and looking back at that perfect spot this housefly had taken up residency. Finally you see a magazine, you have yet to read but hey, when a sniper gets a perfect shot, they don´t pass it up. You slowly march back to your original position. THERE HE IS!!! You are so giddy with excitement you can hardly contain yourself. Should you get closer or strike. One will never know until you strike like the cobra you are. And as soon as it begins...it ends.

As the dust settles from your magnificent blow to the dusty table you refused to clean while you sat home all day salivating over the chance to kill this fly, you honor your slain foe as only you see fit to a worthy adversary:with full honors and a 21 gun slaute...well 21 cans of soda is all you have so ...so be it...

As you bury his carcass into the trashcan, you feel a familiar whisp of air and barely hear the audible laughters of his cousin who just entered your home thru the window you opened to rejoice in a well deserved smoke!

I feel like it's 1984...

So Carme decided to get a better deal on our internet connection at our apartment. Living in Tossa is like living in Dinwiddie county and trying to get fiber optics to your trailer. There are a few companies battling it our for the new territory of home internet users but due to treacherous terrain, it's kind of difficult to run the cabling, but it's here none the less. To me, Tossa is like when you watch a movie of travelers walking thru the jungle and finally when all hope is lost and all the water is run out, and just thru the last palm tree, you see paradise on the other end.

So we switched from one provider to another on Monday. Like in America, when you change long distance providers (if you haven't done so once in your life, you are missing something special), you initiate your call with the company you want to change to, they take all your info and then pass you over to a neutral 3rd party who asks you 10 different ways if you are sure you want to change internet providers. So we went thru this process but the internet is in my name, not Carme's. therefore, it is I who has to do all this confirming and such. Ok some thins I don't have to explain to you but Carme said all I have to do is say is "Si". So I sat there listening to this woman on the other end asking me questions and praying she wasn't asking me to sign over my first born. So I listened...and she spoke at the speed of light (I guess the speed of sound would not make sense). I , by the grace of god, recognized my name in a sea of other indistinguishable words (funny how 'indistinguishable' would be it's namesake to any non-English speaking person) and then hear a pause...I respond with 'si'. Easy enough, right? The second questions comes and I am thinking I am getting the hang of this. Around the 4th question I was swimming in conjugations and reflexive pronouns. My mind started to wander but I was still in tune to her pauses. "Si". I start thinking about what I should have for lunch...pause "si". Hmmmm I am wear mixed matched socks...pause..."si". And before I know it...the torture is over. Spanish is easy!

So anyhow, no one took the time to tell us that there is a law here in Spain where the company you are leaving has 15 days to disconnect their service. The new company has 35 days to connect your service. Well in a perfect world, you are looking at no loss in service. In the spanish world you are looking at 20 days without service. In the real world I am looking at no service! But my new company came to the rescue and gave me a dial up account! Yee Haw!!!!

So my home is full of the familiar sounds of a 56K modem squelching and struggling for a connection to some remote server for a connection to a pipeline the size of a straw. Not one of those normal sized straws but one of those stirring straws you get with your mixed drinks. You know the ones you are never sure if you should suck thru or not in fear you might get a ruptured brain vessel from while trying to suck down your tequila sunrise.

So in essence...IT FEELS LIKE 1984!